The Seven Deaths of Eward Elric
by Belledonner
Summary: When Ed is placed into our world, he decides life is no longer worth living. But suicide is elusive, and finally on his 8th death the gate gives him a final option: To die then and there, or to live out seven deaths in Amatis. R&R- Belledonner


AN: I know I know: another new fic...*sigh* but this one will be fun and will only go for approximately 8 chapters, give or take an epilogue.

Well, enjoy my fun, if slightly traumatic at the beginning, fic.

It will be a funny, romantic, angst-y, secretive, action filled puddle of fun words that will gain your morbid curiosity like watching a train wreck! You wont be able to tear you eyes away! (flings arms into air and grins shamelessly)

It starts before the movie but after the season ends. Got it? You got a good take on it? Ok? READ!

xxx Belle.

Disclaimer: I don't own the neighborhood, I just rent the house.

***

Mortality: just a pretty word for death. Just another way of saying death is inexplicable, irresputeable. Wether you die young, and without a chance, or a death where you remember nothing but old age.

Mortality: it is everything.

***

The water was all around him, thick and heavy, sluggish in its motion to drown him, sucking at the flimsy automail and dragging him lower into the inky depths of he Thames river from were he had jumped, from high atop a bridge to certain death.

So he hoped.

He breathed in.

The water sloshed up his nostrils and into his gaping mouth, the stunning cold forcing its way down his throat, pushing shards of pain like splinters of ice down his esophagus and into his lungs. Filling slowly with the water that would be his death, glutting him on his choices and bloating his chest, forcing the last air bubbles from his dull blue lips. He watched with eyes fringed with black static of unconsciousness and surly death, watched as his last breath soared towards the surface, already so far away as he sunk. Like little baubles of silver deserting him to the depth in witch he would never be found or missed, so beautiful in a place he didn't belong.

He was never going home, but he would never have another place to call such; he refused.

So he would just keep the memories and hope Alphonse forgot, moved on.

_Goodbye..._

_

* * *

_

The tub was filled with hot water, raised up to his chin, soothing his mucels even as he reached towards the toaster.

* * *

The gun in his hand was slick and smooth as he raised it to his chin, tilted upward.

His last thought was of frustration.

* * *

Gunshot ripped through the calm, rattling the empty bottles on the floor.

* * *

The rope was thick around his neck, heavy, comforting.

* * *

"poncy, girly-assed poffters, all of you!" he shouted at the mob of heavily muscled men, "I could take you, not that you would be worth the fight, wimpy Nancy boys as you are."

* * *

he angled the knife against the jugular of his throat. It would take approximately fifteen seconds of pain before his death, an he would be unconscious for nine of them.

* * *

Taxi, taxi, car, taxi, ah; bus. Bingo.

* * *

Edward was frustrated. Pissed off.

He was, for lack of a better word, throughly Cheesed.

So he was at the uppermost point of big Ben, the giant clock of england.

Seven times, seven times he had died, only to find himself at the edge of the damn gate and then under soft sheets of white linen, Alfons' worried face hanging over him once more.

This would be the eighth time.

The sensation of falling, the air tearing itself apart to let him pass, the massive clock face screaming past fast, too fast. His hair whipped against his face, stinging his skin stretched with force, tears streaming from his watering eyes.

He tumbled through the air, forever closer to the growing cobblestones bellow.

Faster faster faster.

Down down down.

One last time.

The gate appeared before he hit the ground.

It gaped open a crack and the black tendrils shot from its inky shadows, attaching itself to his limbs and dragging his limp and willing body towards the gate one more time to where large empty eyes gazed unblinkingly and hungrily at his body and soul.

The pictures that flashed through his mind were not the truths of the universe, not this time; now they were images of the suicides he had attempted, the repercussions of his death if he had slipped beyond the veil. It showed him seven chances, of new beginning and redemption, showed him his eighth and final absolute death. The last ending to his life.

And a final choice.

It showed him seven deaths, one for each sin he had committed, then showed him seven days and seven nights, or possibilities of what they might be. Seven days in Amitris for the seven deaths he had committed. to relive the seven he had already surrived: one every day for seven turns of the earth before the final strike.

Or.

A final death, to slide into the darkness and join with the sightless glazed eyes.

He made his choice.

Edward Elric opened his eyes to white linen sheets. A familiar face looked down on him and before the static claimed him to sleep, he could have sworn it was Gracia.


End file.
